


Silhouettes

by french_crap



Series: Starless Sky [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, I'm v bad at tagging can u guess?, Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Metaphors, Other, Pining, Realization, Unrequited Love, baths, light - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/french_crap/pseuds/french_crap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire loves Enjolras, Enjolras doesn't love Grantaire.<br/>Grantaire fucks Jehan but doesn't love, Jehan doesn't love Grantaire either.<br/>Grantaire is being a pining pissbaby and Combeferre takes care of him a lot.<br/>Grantaire doesn't love Combeferre .... but Combeferre kind of loves Grantaire?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

„What do you mean you never noticed, ‘Taire?“ And it was in this moment, in the way Jehan tilted their head to the side and blinked curiously, patiently, waiting for an answer, in the way his heart suddenly started beating much slower, that Grantaire realised how blind he had been.

„You always spend so much time together, I thought you two were really close.“ Jehan added, carefully stomping out their joint on the border of the bathtub and leaned back, deliberately taking Grantaire’s arms to nestle into them.

Grantaire didn’t reply. He was feeling dizzy, the tips of his fingers were numb and although the water was warm and cozy, an icy shiver ran down his spine. Oh, how fucking blind he had been!

Enjolras. It was and had always been Enjolras. The way his blond locks fell down the delicate, yet fierce student’s face, the soft, melodramatic vibrato in his voice when he gave thrilling speeches, the loving shimmer in his eyes when his lips curled into a smile. Everything about him, every little detail … but not more. No one else. Just Enjolras. Grantaire’s marbled statue of a greek god.

Or what he believed him to be.

For his friends this image he had of Enjolras was never more than a amicable joke, an amusing detail to add in joyful conversations, a reason to roll their eyes. Grantaire knew that they never cared much for how he saw Enjolras. But, and he was convinced this to be true, only because they never saw him through Grantaire’s eyes. If they did, they would understand.

Only Jehan and Combeferre didn’t pat Grantaire’s back with a laugh in their voice when he drank himself to the part of slumber again, where reality comes so close to dreams that you almost feel like being able to be happy. Just once, finally, to be truly happy.

Jehan and Grantaire’s relationship was a shy one. Although they knew each other so well, although they had shown each other their naked body and naked soul, their company had always stayed timid and cautious. Although, or maybe Because. Everything seemed so fragile between them, as if what they had might slip into past tense too easily. And none of them wanted to break into a beautiful mistake.

Combeferre, on the other hand, was more straightforward. He was not as soft as Jehan and didn’t hesitate to interfere with people’s lives when he believed it to be the right thing to do. The many years at university had taught him that the only way to avoid misunderstandings was by naming the problem, and being frank about it. And it happened more than once that he’d push up his glasses in one of Enjolras and Grantaire’s heated fights at the Corinth, and interrupt them with a speech about how both of them were right and wrong.

That was the being of Combeferre. He liked the theory and philosophy of things so much, that he often forgot about the pragmatic realisation of said theory. Agreeing with both, Enjolras and Grantaire’s point, might shut them up for another hour, but it rarely gave them any sort of satisfaction to have actually won this fight.

And in his intoxicated state, Grantaire usually needed this satisfaction to believe that he was loved.

Of what use was it to vent to Combeferre about Enjolras for hours, only to have him take sides with Enjolras? Or even worse, to have him explain the situation from Enjolras’ point of view? Grantaire didn’t want to see things from Enjolras’ point of view. He just wanted to have a view on Enjolras. On his beautiful features. He wanted Enjolras to talk to him, yell – if he must – or just pay attention. But what did he care what Enjolras actual thoughts were?

Why could he never wake up in Combeferre’s bed, with a headache as painful as the wound of a literal knifewound in his temples, without having Combeferre lecture him about the importance of staying hydrated after drinking alcohol.

Never had Grantaire been bailed out of jail by Combeferre and driven home because he lost his permit again, without having to earn a disapproving sigh, a disappointed headshake, or a tired hug.

It was always his sense of duty which would make Combeferre ask all of his phone contacts and drive les amis around the city to find Grantaire when Joly and Bossuet had lost him on a pubcrawl again… Only his sense of duty.

“I’m not more than an obligation to him.” Grantaire said, shaking his head defiantly.

Jehan had dozen off into a comfortable nap and blinked their eyes open, confused about the sudden break of silence.

“To..?”

“To 'Ferre. No matter how often I beg him to stay in his apartment after a long night, he will only ever let me sleep on the couch.”

“Hm.” Jehan hummed in their melodic voice and closed their eyes again. After a moment they turned around to lie flat on Grantaire. Tummy on tummy, as they’d say. In the big bathroom, the sound of the dabbling water echoed against the empty, yellow walls. “Might the reason for that not be that you only ever talk about our fearless leader?”

Grantaire didn’t reply. He looked at the doe brown eyes and thought about how much darker Combeferre’s eyes were. At least he believed so. He had missed a lot of opportunities to check this detail. They did spend a lot of time together, yes. But it was a necessity, was it not? They never spent an evening together only to be together, like he and Jehan did. The only reasons why they interacted were either to keep Grantaire from annoying Enjolras, or to keep Grantaire from harming himself because of Enjolras.

So many nights, weekends after weekends, did Grantaire spend chasing this faint hope of maybe earning an approving smile one day. A glimpse of reciprocated feelings. But when it was 2 in the morning and he had again mixed drugs and alcohol and his stomach was turning upside down, it was never Enjolras sitting next to him in the dark alleys. Joly, sometimes, Eponine, quite often, Combeferre, nearly always. But Enjolras? Never.

It never became more than a dream.

And Grantaire stayed alone.

Alone with a hangover forcing him to miss his Monday morning classes again.

Jehan nudged Grantaire’s nose with their finger and smiled.

“It gets fucking lonely to only ever talk about our fearless leader.” Grantaire tried a smirk. It worked. He was good at faking smiles by now. But Jehan had learned to see behind it. They nestled back into Grantaire’s arms and rested their head on his chest, barely above the water line.

“What is a silhouette, 'Taire?”

“Uh, well, I, it’s…” he frowned. “It’s the dark outline of someone in only a little light against a lot of light? Like, backlight photography. No?”

Jehan nodded. “Contre-jour.” With their pale fingers, Jehan traced down the scars on Grantaire’s arms. “Don’t you sometimes think that Combeferre is the silhouette on your photograph and Enjolras is the light?”


	2. Chapter 2

„What if he doesn’t let you sleep in his bed with him because he thinks all you want is Enjolras?“

And the realisation hit him hard. What if it wasn’t just Combeferre’s sense of duty which made him worry about Grantaire when latter got lost in the city again? What if Combeferre didn’t just care about Grantaire staying healthy because he was such a pain in the ass when he drank? What if all those sighs, headshakes, hugs weren’t made of pity but of relief that nothing worse had happened? What if the reason Combeferre let him vent about Enjolras for hours was because those were the only occasions Grantaire spent time with Combeferre?

Enjolras’ flame had been so bright, that Grantaire had simply never seen the person standing in it’s shadow.

„I never quite understood why you don’t like ‘Ferre. He and Enjolras are quite similar after all.“  
Grantaire’s heart had started racing and his eyes were tightly shut. He couldn’t move for a long moment. Then he suddenly flipped them over so he could hover over Jehan. „Do you know how much I love you sometimes?“ But before Jehan could reply, Grantaire started pepping tiny little kisses all over the pale skin of his friend, teasing giggles and moans out of them.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey.“

“R?“

“Yeah. Hi.“

“I’ve got class in ten minutes minutes. What is it?“

“I just wanted to-“

“If it’s about the meeting this week, yes we moved it to thursday.“

Grantaire bit his lips, both of them, keeping his mouth shut. For the first time in those two years that they were friends now, he noticed how much he must have hurt Combeferre with his selfishness. Or, probably, and this was much more likely, for the first time, he actually cared enough to notice.

“It’s not about the meeting.“

“Listen, R, can we-“ But this time it was Grantaire who didn’t let him finish.

“If we moved the meeting to thursday, does that mean you’re free on friday?“

At first, there was no answer on the other side of the line. Then the quiet rustle was broken by Combeferre’s voice. “I am. Why?”

“Chinese takeaway and a movie? At your place? I pay.”

This time, the silence took more than 60 seconds. Grantaire held his breath. His forehead pressed against the wall that seperated his bedroom and his kitchen, he thought about how deep he must have hurt Combeferre - and how often – to now have him be so hesitant and confused.

“Who else is inv-?”

“No one.” Grantaire immediately stopped him. “Just you and me.”

“Why?”

Never before had a question make Grantaire feel this bad. “Can’t a pathetic ass like me invite his buddy to a movie night without being questioned?” He laughed. Forced. Shakily, nervous, worried. “I just … I just think you deserve being taken care of, too. To make up for all the shit I always put you through.”

He waited. Then. “Grantaire … I’ve got to go to class now.”

“Is that a yes?” That was a no. It was too late. He had used this wonderful man too often for his own, selfish purposes. Combeferre was scarred, and Grantaire couldn’t blame him for refusing to give him another chance.

But then Combeferre spoke again, softly this time, and there was almost a wisp of a smile in his voice. “I see you on Friday.”

Grantaire jumped up straight, grabbing his phone with both hands and pressing it closer to his cheek. He stared at nothing in particular, right in front of him, and grinned from ear to ear. “Yes?!”

“Yes.”

“Yes!” he laughed. An honest laugh, this time.

And Combeferre joined his laugh with a soft chuckle. “I really got to go now. Goodbye, R.”

“Till friday!”

“Until friday.” Combeferre sounded so much happier than at the beginning of the conversation. And Grantaire felt light.

“Oh! And Ferre?”

An amused sigh was the answer. “Yes, R?”

“Would you let me sleep in your bed this time?”


End file.
